Talk Is Cheap
by do.it.for.baltimore.doll.face
Summary: Buttercup liked to talk, well, with her fists. *dedicated to Flutejrp* implied greens, r


I don't own them; they're teenagers, as per usual. Eh. Butch is a wee bit melodramatic in this one (um, duh) and Buttercup can be if you tilted your head to the side and squinted a bit. But, as I said... Eh. It's something I've been working on for a little less than a week, and it's a gift for an incredibly talented and kind hearted Fanfiction friend of mine, Flutejrp! Go check out her stories; she doesn't disappoint. But yeah, I hope you like this, Flutejrp. I um...did a quick eenie meenie miney mo to figure out which couple to write for your surprise (greens, of course; and please don't be under the impression that I didn't spend a lot of time on this considering I used child-like methods to decide for me; I don't believe you're thinking like that but yeah), so um...SURPRISE!

Enjoy~

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**Talk Is Cheap**

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"If you don't shut up, I'm going to take your arms, snap them in half, _beat _you with them, and then shove them so far up your ass they will knock your teeth _out_!" Buttercup growled. Her obsidian hair whispered by the nape of her neck, the autumn breeze rustling them around as they curled and bounced, tickling her bare shoulders. She propped herself up on to her elbows with a hiss, wincing at the open wounds that littered her arms like a battlefield, and stared at the obnoxious scene before her. Her mint green eyes flared with rage and a pinch of annoyance as her thick-headed, vexatious, despicable, insignificant, _jack ass _of a counterpart continued to worm about on the fallen debris of the abandoned (and borderline creepy) grocery store. The hard, green stare she gave him was enhanced from the smoky eye make-up smudged around her orbs, and partly because of the ominous sky above them.

"Oh, Butterfly, the _agony_," Butch moaned, his hands dragging down his bruised face and pawing at his shredded shirt. He tossed around on the graffiti-ridden bricks beneath him, the rough feel of the bricks grinding against his skin painfully. His jade eyes were squeezed shut, his chapped lips gritted together, his face twisted in (fake) anguish. Butch's jet black hair slapped against his forehead as a calloused hand reached for his infuriated counterpart.

"You asking for a death wish?" The petite girl rolled her shoulders and coughed. She stumbled to her feet, not so graciously strutting over the cracked sidewalk (where she layed) and up to the small mountain of bricks and plaster where Butch squirmed relentlessly. Buttercup unceremoniously snatched him by his hair and slammed him back down, a cloud of smoke arising from under the rubble. She chuckled, a smug smirk painting its way on her face as he stared up at her with bleary eyes, his body rocking to a stop, and God, that choking sound he croaked out made Buttercup want to dance in a fit of joy.

"I-I can't hear you, babe. All I see is this bright light, it's like, calling my _name_." His hands moved about slowly, dumbly; and he couldn't help but take notice at how well her pink lips contrasted with her porcelain skin; how her eyelashes kissed her flushed cheeks as she stared down at him like he was a snail.

Buttercup scowled, "That's it-"

"Shit! It's coming closer! Oh, Butterfly, I think this is the end for me," his voice teetered, and his breathing quickened, and Buttercup's glare deeped. "Tell my brothers I hate them, and that I will become Boomer's personal polterguist for eating that last Twinkie. And you know? I should just scare Brick for the hell of it."

Buttercup ignored him and glanced beneath her petite feet - Butch still rambling his 'last words' - and picked up a brick. Her Converse rolled around on the rugged surface. She kicked one over, and then a whole party of bricks tumbled down the "mountain" and slammed on the pavement like dominos. The green 'puff turned the brick over in her hand, fingers poking at the missing chunk in the corner, palm gliding across the rough surface; it hovered above Butch's face for a second, and then, very carefully, she plucked her fingers off the brick, one-by-one, until it leaped from her hand and tumbled down.

Earlier, the Rowdyruff Boys thought it was cute to have a baseball game downtown; they had whacked minivans and pick-up trucks into oblivion with a street lamp, and as it soared into the indigo heavens - the citizens of Townsville panicking and diving for the nearest door to safety - they had cheered and slapped each other on the back.

When the girls zipped up, a transculent vapor of their respective color fading out into the atmosphere behind them, Boomer had just smacked an expensive car into an office building, and was rewarded with a billow of smoke that had papers rustling within. Buttercup ignored the runt, - he wasn't her problem, he was Blondie's - screeched and flew over to Butch in a flurry of ebony and Peridot. He was at the quote-unquote "pitcher's mound", but it really was just a pothole in the middle of an intersection. She had knocked him off his feet, grabbed him by his ankles, and hurled him across the sky and towards the outskirts of town, where the population shrank and the store's sizes dwindled. Buttercup'd glared at him as he struggled to fly, the force of the air rushing in on him, and in a jade flash he was sent through the abandoned grocery store.

She had vaguely recalled a flash of pink and red booming up through the clouds and lighting up the sky like fireworks, and the two blue streaks colliding into one another with a crack that thundered across Townsville; but all she could really see, as she floated over to Butch, was how his leg bent in the wrong way, his knee bones grinding as he forced himself to his feet. He had fallen back down on the rubble, groaning in agony and glaring at Buttercup from afar, his darker shade of green eyes piercing into hers. A swell of pride engulfed her and a smirk found a way on her face as her feet touched the ground. Butch had roared and charged at her, and Buttercup was taken by surprise when he rammed her into the concrete. The struggle to get on top lasted for a minute, their hands clawing at the other's throat and threatening to gauge the other's eyes out. Buttercup heard the squeaking sound a couple of times, the sound of Butch gritting his teeth together to withstand the pain, or quote-unquote "agony".

After an hour of beating the living shit out of the other, Buttercup had realized his leg already healed, due to the Chemical X in his system, but the swelling bruises and oozing cuts remained as they slugged one another. The girl hit him with a particularly hard blow that sent Butch flying on to the mountain of bricks, and it was so powerful it knocked her to the ground, too. Butch had smirked and glanced over at her, his eyebrows twitching at the revealing tear in her shirt, and that was when he thought of the most ingenious plan to annoy the daylights out of her. And so, the dramatics started, and Buttercup's foul language stirred up again, and so did the ache to punch anything that moved.

"Jesus Christ!" Butch's hands flew to his face. A trickle of blood ran out of his nose, scurried over the curve of his lips, and dripped down his chin.

Buttercup blinked.

She stepped away, opened her mouth (oh wait, those weren't words, that was a yawn), rolled her eyes because she yawned, and then spoke in a hoarse voice. "You know, you're lucky I didn't rip your fucking arms off, Twitch. You know I could."

"Yeah, but you won't," Butch swiped the blood off his face with a large hand.

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

"Because I wouldn't be able to touch you anymore," he winked, and with a grunt, stood up.

Buttercup blushed, a crimson hue inching it's way across the bridge of her nose and under her neckline - what he said was unexpected. "Shaddup," her green eyes widened as they flitted away from her assinine counterpart, her dark eyebrows fleeing to her hairline. "St-stop being such a cocky knark, I wouldn't let you _touch _me if you were the last man on this planet."

"So I'm a man now?" He toothily grinned.

"Um, no, you're not," Buttercup bluffed. She dimly corrected herself that he was, in fact, a man now. There was no denying it. He towered over her by a foot, and his face was chiseled, no longer holding that boyish look. But his eyes - his eyes still gleamed with the rememberance of his childhood.

"I dunno, I'm not so little anymore...if ya know what I mean," Butch winked.

She scoffed, "Enough, _Pencildick_. Talk is cheap. Let's finish this."

"With pleasure."

Buttercup steadied herself with a stomp of her feet and squatted down; her eyes darted at his every move, from the twitch of his squared shoulders, or the wiggle of his fingers as he cracked them one by one - even when his tongue glided across his bottom lip seductively (insert a roll of Buttercup's eyes here) and tucked back into his mouth. She shivered.

"You sure you're ready for this, Butterfly?"

Her gaze rested on his mouth for a second longer.

"Oh yeah."

** . . **


End file.
